Almost Innocent Read Online Free Page A

She was right. My brother would have never given this woman more than a second glance. This woman would have looked down her nose at him.
    Her clothes were the biggest change. I didn’t know shit about women’s fashion, but she oozed class and charm. She looked like a business executive on the way to some billion-dollar merger, not the girl who had once lived in corduroy pants, tank tops, and flip-flops.
    Then she opened her mouth, and I realized Gabby was still Gabby, no matter what she wore or how she changed her hair.
    I turned into Adam’s drive, letting reality and work distract me from thinking about her. After almost twelve years behind bars—ten in a maximum security prison and close to two in county waiting for my fate to be decided—and countless hours spent focused on her, my mind should have been anxious to move on to other topics. It wasn’t. Even as we loaded the cars, broke into two groups, and steered our vehicles south, my thoughts kept trying to drift back to Gabby. As soon as we were on the highway, I turned on Disturbed and cranked the volume.
    We’d made it almost to Portland when Mark flipped off the music. I arched an eyebrow in his direction, unsure of what was coming.
    “Funny thing,” he started slowly, adjusting his legs and leaning back. “That woman you were with earlier looked just like someone I used to know. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear it was this chick named Gabby. Guess it’s time to get my eyes checked.”
    I didn’t take my eyes off the road. I didn’t need to look at him to know he had his lips twisted in mock thought, his fingers tapping his leg the way they did when he was trying to cover his emotions. He couldn’t hide it from me any more than I could keep shit from him though.
    Mark Smith was more than my oldest and best friend. He was my blood. Callaghan in every way except name. And that was only because he was a stubborn fuck. As stubborn as the woman who’d named him Markus Smith.
    My uncle Logan, according to my dad, loved his wife. As he loved all of the women who warmed his bed. Hell, all women period. He didn’t love any of them enough to leave Aunt Erin though. When Mark’s mom found out she was pregnant, she demanded Logan leave his wife and marry her. When he denied her, she refused to give Mark the Callaghan name.
    Born two months before me, Mark had always been a member of my family, yet he refused to change his name. Apparently if the name was too good for his mom to give him, it was too good for him to take. Bullshit. The topic was a sore subject for us because I loved him like a brother and wanted him to claim what was his. You didn’t leave this world with anything other than your name, and being a Callaghan meant something.
    Of course, what it meant depended on who you were.
    To some, the name was another word for power—a level of corruption that ran deep. To others, the name inspired fear. A few felt it was synonymous with untouchable criminals.
    They were all right.
    Once, it had been O’Callaghan. If you followed my roots back centuries, you’d find noblemen who spawned children who were loved by their subjects because they weren’t afraid to stand up for what was right. Then some genius did something that embarrassed his family and was banished to the Americas. He built a life here, in what is now New England, because it was the only place that reminded him of home, long before this country was its own.
    Then other immigrants invaded, and being Irish became something dirty. So the family dropped the O and continued to live as they always had. They built an empire, a legacy to be proud of.
    There were times when a man didn’t have anything but his name. No matter what else was wrong, your name didn’t fail you. I was honored to be a Callaghan. I wanted to share that with Mark.
    We would never agree on certain things, but we still covered for each other. Always had. And we didn’t lie to each other, no matter how fucked up the